It was a moment of walking when
the light changed,
glowed,
abolished all notion of chill from the wind
and
smiled out from windows like
gloves onto hands.
Fractured by the lines of
spindly branches,
leafless,
the light lifted the world into
a moment of fantasy,
a drifted painted world,
a world asleep in its vibrance,
a world patient in its anachronism.
Walking, we
witnessed this moment,
shuttered up in our coats and gloves like
seals in fat;
we basked briefly in the small sun
of that window-light
and walked on.
©K Paige Medina 24 February 2017
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